Father, Who's George?
by ProfessionallyCrazedTrigunFan
Summary: One day, a young Kazuya Mishima conspires to blackmail his father. But what he finds disturbs him. How can the mind of a 7 year old survive this kind of lunacy?


Hello, and welcome to my first Tekken fic. You should seriously flush my head down a toilet right now, because I think this is the single most ridiculous thing I have ever written. But then, most of my stupidest ideas come while in the shower. Go figure. I had no idea the shower was such a wonderful stimuli for idiotic thoughts. Yes, now enough of my ramblings. This "story", if you want to call it that, I call it an Epic of Idiocy, is told from the point of view of a young, slightly uncorrupted Kazuya. This EoI is incredibly OOC, but I'm sure you're used to that by now. Onwards to the Epic of Idiocy!

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Tekken. Don't own Kazuya, Heihachi, Mishima mansion. But I do own George. Mua ha.

**Father, Who's George?**

I, Kazuya Mishima, a mere 7 years old, was profoundly disturbed today by a recent discovery made about my father, Heihachi Mishima. Now, the man may be a complete and utter asshole, and nonfatherly material to boot, but this discovery by far is so singularly disturbing, I cannot state it directly for fear of becoming physically ill. In my entire vast 7 years of life, I don't think I've ever had something that made me this violently ill. But since you seem curious, I shall recount the events of the day for you.

_Flashback_

Damned alarmclock. What piteously stupid fool set my alarm for 3:27 A.M? 3:27 I ASK YOU! Ugh. And father broke my sleep button. Note to self: break sleep button on Father's alarm clock. That'll show the bastard. But at this precise moment its 3:30 a.m. and I'm just a right little ray of sunshine, woopdeedoo. However, now that I have been awoken by that evil plotting alarm clock, I find that sleep eludes me. And for some strange reason, I know Father is not yet awake. I can feel the evil, conspiratorial smirk conquering my face as a very interesting idea enters my mind.

You see, Father dear has a study. A study that he never lets me enter. Now, no matter what anyone tells you, Father is not all-knowing or omnipotent. No matter how much it seems like it. Now, one day whilst Father was napping (Yes. Just imagine the Great Heihachi snoring away on a couch clutching a teddy bear) I just happened to stumble upon the key to father's study. I took this key and, using my very own key-making-thing (Kami-sama knows Father gives me more than enough to buy one), I made a copy of this key. I swore an oath to myself that I would never use this key unless I thought it would serve a purpose.

Oh, but it shall today. I shall have my petty little revenge on Father for setting my alarm so early. So I tiptoe out of bed, grab my velvet-lined bathrobe (never go anywhere without it) and sneak ever-so-lightly down the many many many many many many many many halls, corridors, secret passages, etc. of Mishima Mansion. You'd think they'd install an elevator in this blasted place. But no. Father likes his "exercise". I snort at that thought. Yeah right. He probably masturbates on his way down the hall. I know for a fact that his hallway has risqué pictures lining the walls. Not that I, only being a tender 7, have ever seen these so called pictures. But you know servants. Gossip gossip gossip.

And so, creeping down toward the very last door in the west wing of the house (pfft. that's an understatement.), I hear no sounds emitting from any of the rooms, although knowing the servants, their ears are pressed to their doors at all hours. Ah! At last! There it is, in all its splendid glory, Father's study! Wait...I have to hold my own hand to stop myself from slapping..myself. o.O Yeah. Why on earth should my Father's study be splendidly glorious? Possibly because I have yet to see its internal workings? Psht. Who cares. I'll just open the damn door and see what I can use for blackmail.

My hand is on the doorknob now, I'm trembling in excitement. Slowly, ever so slowly I turn the handle and push the door gently open.But then a thought struck me like lighting to the brain. What if he had an alarm system? Or the room was boobytrapped? Then I would be doomed for sure, for there is no more sure affirmation of doom as when it's brought upon you by Father in His wrath.

But no! I must take that chance! If I should fail, and Father's wrath IS brought down on my head, I shall be long gone with Jones. (For those of you who don't know, Jones is my stuffed teddy bear..er..yeah. Shut up. Or I'll send the Tekkenshu after you. Besides. Jones is a manly stuffed bear. Better than any of those wussy Mr. Snugglekins.) If worst comes to worst, I'll just jump out the window. And probably die in the process either from being hit with a bullet first or upon impact with the ground. Too bad there's no mattress down there to catch me. But if I find something it may be well worthwhile.

But enough chitchat. My confidence in success has been restored and once again my hand reaches out for the doorknob.I turn the knob, assured that I will not come to harm. The door is halfway open. Three quarters. Prepared for some great illegal laboratory or something of the like, the sight I see is nothing like what I saw in my imagination. I don't even feel as my jaw drops below the perscribed level or as my eyes bugged out of my head until they were hanging on only by the retina.

I'm pretty sure that if you saw what I see that you would have a similar reaction. Or maybe you would just die on the spot. That's what I feel like doing. Written all over the walls of Father's study, on books, on his computer screen, on the walls, on the other side of the door, on the light switch panel, all over the desk, the chairs, the bookshelves, the lamps, the ceiling, any place you could write on anything. I looked down at the carpet even and saw the words embedded into the carpet as a custom job! By God! The man was looney! Wriiten on every available surface were written the words "I Love George" or "Heihachi Loves George-chan". All thoughts of blackmail fled my mind as only one thing consumed it like an obsession, which is probably what it was.

I slam the door, trying to block out the horrifying scene from my memory, but to no avail. I start running the entire 5 miles (no exaggeration) back to my room. I run into my bathroom and take every ounce of soap I hold in my possession and begin to scrub my eyes until their reddish-brownish-blackish-orange. But blast! Nothing I do works! Maybe hypnotism...but I seriously doubt that would work either. No. There is only one solution. I shall just have to ask Father who this "George" is. I must find out at all costs. But first, a bit more sleep is in order.

I blink as the sun filters through my eyelids, sending my brain into "I Hate You" mode. Cursed ball of gas floating in the sky. Who gave it rights to come up so early? Oh wait...I check my alarm clock. It's 2:46 PM.....2:46 PM? HOLY CRAP! I jump out of bed, through on some random clothes scattered around my room run out the door, down the 37 flights of stairs, and into the grand hall, where Father was standing with Mother discussing something about "porn." Must be some new brand of corn or something. Anyway. I strolled up to Father and stared at him in all my magnificence.

His eye merely twitches and his eyebrow rose as he stares right back at me with that "look". Well, at least he's not wearing that big diaper. Then I would either puke, laugh, or quite possibly both. "Father. I have an important question to ask you." I can't help but feel that I really do not want to know the answer to the question I'm about to ask. I saw a vein pulse in Father's temple. He really does not like to be asked questions, especially by an "impertinent, ungrateful little bastard of a brat". But screw him. I have to know.

"Well, spit it out boy. I don't have all damn day." Yeesh. Touchy. I clear my throat uncomfortably and Father starts cackling. Oh yes. He's just the perfect, sensitive father that every little boy wants. "Um...er..." My palms are starting to sweat. Yet another thought has just struck my brain. By letting Father know I know about this "George" I reveal that I have been in his sacred study. But I harden my resolve. I MUST know. Or perish in the attempt to find out. "Father. Who is George?"

I have to fight down the incredibly strong impulse to laugh as I watch the expressions on the old fart's face. First, shock, then surprise, then anger, then confusion, and who knows what else. And just listen to the explanation he gives me. "George is uh...my new pet monkey." My eyebrow raises up and up and up. Now why do I seriously doubt that. I may only be 7, but I'm not entirely stupid.

But as a look over at mother, I start to get scared. There is a look of absolute fury on her face. I cringe. I watch in fascinated horror as Mother stomps over to Father, grabs him by the 2 spikes of hair on his head, and screams in his ear.

"HEIHACHI MISHIMA HOW DARE YOU BRING YOUR MANWHORE INTO THIS HOUSE IN FRONT OF OUR SON!"

By this point, my eye is twitching independantly and can't seem to stop. Father just laughs it off and attempts to get up. No such luck. Mother dear has him in a death grip. "Aw, but Sugar Booger, I can share!"


End file.
